Part 16
There was during the festivities, later, a bit of mistletoe over the door, which, in an indirect, roundabout way, through our ancestral England, was also meant as a tribute to America, and which caused much merriment during the holidays in a family unusually blessed with cousins in assorted sizes. When certain flaxen-haired maidens felt that their age and dignity did not permit them to indulge in such sports, and so resisted all allurements to stand an instant under the mistletoe-bough, what did the bold young student cousins? Each seized a twig of green and stood it up suggestively in a cousin's fair braided locks, when she was at last "under the mistletoe," and
"I wad na hae thought a lassie Wad sae o' a kiss complain!"
None but the brave deserve the fair, and then--lest any one should be shocked--they were positively all cousins, and when they were more than five times removed I can solemnly affirm I _think_ it was the hand only that was gallantly lifted to the lips of Cousin Hugo, or Cousin Rudolph, or Cousin Siegfried; and, if I am mistaken after all, Christmas comes but once a year, and youth but once in a lifetime.
At the theatre, Christmas pieces were given especially for the children. The Stadt Theatre one evening was crowded with pretty little heads, the private boxes full to overflowing; and across the body of the house a great, solid row of orphan girls in a uniform of black, with short sleeves and a large white kerchief pinned soberly across the shoulders. They wear no hats in winter, nor do common housemaids here. A friend in Stuttgart remarked innocently to a servant who was walking with her to the theatre one bitter cold night, "Why, Luise, you'll freeze; you ought to wear a hat or hood." "No, indeed!" said the girl, quite repudiating the idea, "I am no _frauelein_." They do not seem to suffer any evil consequences, never having known anything different, and perhaps the little orphans, too, are not so cold as they look. It may be they are made to go bareheaded, to teach them their station and humility, but it seems a miracle that it does not teach them influenza. The little things were in the seventh heaven of delight, and the play a bit of pure, delicious nonsense,--a fairy-tale with an old, familiar theme,--the three golden apples and the three princesses who pluck them, and in consequence are plunged into the depths of the earth, where a fire-breathing dragon is their keeper; the despair of their royal father, who is a portly old gentleman with a very big crown, and his proclamation that whoever, high or low, shall rescue them may wed them; then the procession that sets out in search of the missing maidens, with the tailor, the gardener, and the hunter in advance, and the adventures of the three, until the hunter, who is the beautiful, good young man who always succeeds,--in fairy-tales,--finally rescues the princesses, and marries the youngest and loveliest, while the tailor and gardener, who have conducted themselves in a treacherous and unseemly manner, are punished according to the swift retribution that always overtakes offenders--in fairy-tales.
The action was extremely rapid, the scenery very effective; there were perfect armies of children on the stage, some of whom danced a kind of Chinese mandarin ballet, and some of whom represented apes, and also danced in the suite of the Prince of Monkeyland, one of the rejected suitors of the princesses. In actual life the Prince of Monkeyland is, unfortunately, not always rejected. There was a pretty scene when the sunlight streamed through the Gothic windows of an old castle, and red-capped dwarfs hopped about the stone floor, and played all sorts of pranks by the old well. And then there was the man in the moon, with his lantern; and all the women in the moon, who were blue, filmy, misty creatures, bowing and swaying in a way that made the children through the house scream with laughter; and these moony maidens were so very ethereal they could only speak in a whisper, and almost fainted when the hunter, who happened to be up that way, addressed them.
"Speak softly, softly, noble stranger," they implored, in a whispering chorus, shrinking from him in affright, with their hands on their ears. "Thy voice is like a thunder-clap."
It was certainly one of the prettiest spectacular dramas imaginable, with its innocent, droll plot; and to see a good old-fashioned fairy-tale put on the stage so well, and to see it with hundreds of blissful, ecstatic children, was thoroughly enjoyable.
Through the holidays social life here seems to resolve itself chiefly into great family gatherings, and the custom of watching the old year out is very general. One party of between thirty and forty persons, being only brothers and sisters with their children, was a charming affair. The dignified played whist, and the frivolous sang and were merry in other rooms. Tea and light cakes were served frequently during the evening, from the arrival of the guests until the supper at eleven, when the long table was brilliant with choice glass and silver and flowers; and fresh young faces and sweet, benign elderly ones were gathered around. A family party can be a dismal, dreary assembling of incongruous elements that make one soul-sick and weary of the world, or it can be a tender, cheery, blessed thing. There are, indeed, many varieties of family parties. Most of the large ones are perhaps no better than they ought to be; but _this_ gathering of a clan happened to possess the intangible something that cheers and charms.
There were jests and toasts and laughter and blushes, and there was a wonderful punch, brewed by the eldest son of the house in an enormous crimson glass punch-bowl,--which, like the "Luck of Edenhall," "made a purple light shine over all,"--and dipped out with a gold ladle; and its remarkably intoxicating ingredients, particularly the number of bottles of champagne poured in at the last, I shall never divulge.
The host rose just before midnight, and alluded briefly to certain losses, and causes for sadness experienced by the family during the year; yet they were still, he said very simply, united, loving, and hopeful; he then gave the toast to the New Year, and they all drank it heartily, standing, as the clock was striking twelve, after which was a general movement through the room, warm greetings, hand-pressures and kisses, and suspicious moisture about many eyes, though lips were smiling bravely.
Then came a walk home through the great city, whose streets were crowded full at two o'clock in the morning. "Prosit Neujahr! Prosit Neujahr!" sounded everywhere, far and near. A band of workmen, arm in arm, tramp along in great jollity, pushing their way and greeting the whole world. "Prosit Neujahr!" they cry to the young aristocrat; "Prosit Neujahr!" is the hearty response. For an hour all men are brothers, and everybody turns away from the sad old year, and gives an eager welcome to the new young thing, whom we trust, though we know him not. Above the surging multitude, and the hoarse, loud voices and impetuous hearts, and wild welcoming of the unknown, the starlit night seems strangely still, and the quiet moon shines down on the great frozen Alster basin, around which reaches the twinkling line of city lights. Beyond are the city spires. "Round our restlessness His rest," says some one softly; and so
_Prosit Neujahr_!
Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
NOTICES OF "ONE SUMMER."
"No more charming story than this has appeared since Howells's 'Chance Acquaintance.' 'One Summer' is a delightful, and withal sensible, love-story, which one will be loath to stop reading until the conclusion is reached. The characters are exceedingly attractive, without anything of the superhuman or sensational about them, but full of life, vigor, and common-sense; and a tinge of genuine romance spreads over every chapter."--_New Haven Journal and Courier._
"A delightfully fresh and spirited little romance. The style is graceful and spirited to an eminently pleasing degree; and the plot is charmingly simple and interesting. The hero and heroine are drawn with rare skill and naturalness. Their acquaintance begins by an untoward accident, which sets them at loggerheads; and the means by which their misunderstanding is cleared up, and they gradually begin to esteem each other, form the substance of the story, which has a heartiness of tone, and an apparent freedom from effort in its telling, that make it peculiarly attractive."--_Boston Gazette._
"One of the most charming stories of the season."--_Chicago Inter-Ocean._
"A bright, happy story, delightfully natural and easy. It is just suited for a pleasant afternoon in a hammock, or lying in a breezy shade."--_Boston Traveller._
"It is one of those fresh and breezy love-stories one meets with but twice or thrice in a lifetime. Altogether for charm of style, simpleness of diction, and pleasantness of plot, the book is quite inimitable."--_Rocky Mountain News._
"A story of great merit, both as a novel and a work of art. In reading it, one meets on nearly every page some delicate touch of Nature, or dainty bit of humor, or pleasant piece of description."--_The Independent_ (New York).
"One of the best of summer novels. If we are not mistaken, it will be borrowed and lent around, and laughed over, and possibly cried over, and hugely enjoyed, by all who get a chance to read it."--_The Liberal Christian._
"This little book is one of the most delightful we ever read. It has made us laugh until we cried; and, if it has not made us cry out of pure sadness, it is because our heart is very hard."--_Christian Register_ (Boston).
"The story is charmingly told. The fragrant breath of a rural atmosphere pervades its scenes; much of the character-painting is admirably well done; there is a freshness and vivacity about the style that is singularly attractive; and the whole action of the play comprised within the limits of 'One Summer' has a flavor of originality that commands the unflagging attention of the reader."--_Boston Transcript._
"It is a dainty little love-story, full of bright, witty things, which are related in a charmingly fascinating manner."--_Christian at Work._
"Fresh, airy, sparkling, abounding in delicious bits of description. Its dialogues brimming with a fun which seems to drop from the lips of the speakers without the slightest premeditation, its interest sustained throughout: it is just the book to read under the trees these lazy June days, or to take in the pocket or satchel when starting upon a journey."--_Newark Courier._
"It is a clean-cut, healthy story, with no theology and no superfluous characters. The hero is a manly fellow, and the heroine a sweet and womanly girl, with no nonsense about her."--_Boston Globe._
"It is a woman's book,--bright, fresh, and attractive, and more than ordinarily interesting. There is a decided dash of fun running through the story, and plenty of good, healthy romance, which never degenerates into sentimentality. There is an engaging simplicity about the style, and a refreshing lack of the modern sensational."--_Portland Transcript._